One Thing
by Artemisdesari
Summary: Dean knew one thing, and one only, for certain. Dean/Cas rated to be safe and spoilers for season 4 in general. COMPLETE
1. One Thing

_This is the first thing that I have written in a long time that I have been happy enough with to post, isn't that sad. The most recent episodes however have inspired me and this is the twenty minute result of that inspiration. Please R&R, hate it or love it, I don't really mind, because flames will be used to make tasty smores. _

_**Disclaimer:** If it were mine this would not be a fantasy, this would be a reality, so given current reality, can we really assume that any of the boys belong to me in any way shape or form?_

One Thing.

If there is one thing that Dean Winchester knows for certain, absolutely, one hundred percent _without_ fail, is that he is most definitely, totally, utterly and without out a shred, an ounce or a _whiff_ of doubt, completely _not_ gay. He knows this. Has always known this. There has never been a reason for him to question the fact that he is straight as a die, a phrase he never completely understood anyway.

It is just that, lately, he has begun to question that one thing that he knows. It has been the only constant thing in his life. Not his car, not his father, not his brother, nothing in his life has been so constant as that _simple_ thing. Not even hunting. His car has given out on him on occasion, usually it's not her fault, but there have been times when he has had to leave her. His father disappeared with barely a word, only to sacrifice himself a year later and while Dean knows that everything was more complicated than that, the central fact of it is that he could not be certain about his father for a long time. His brother, Sam, Sammy, Sasquatch. Even Sam had abandoned him, had done things that had made Dean question in the past, and now, with his hell-bitch, Dean could not be sure that his brother really had his back. It shattered the little fragments that his heart had become. Even hunting, even that had become complicated, when the bad guys were the good guys, but were still really the bad guys, and you could not even rely on the good guys either because they were secretly the bad guys dressed up in suits but still ready to beat the ever living hell out of the bad guys just because they could.

The one thing that he knew, thought he knew, without fail. _Dean Winchester is not gay_. He is straight, he has been the best night or weekend in the lives of many a woman, except, and this part is where his mind starts to shy away and panic, now he is not sure. Because he dreamed, but if he were to be honest with himself, he had dreamed every night since Hell. What made him question was not the fact that he dreamed. He had always dreamed, dreamed of love, dreamed of loss, of normal, of abnormal but never, _not ever_, had he dreamed of a man, in _that_ way. Until three months ago. When he had stopped dreaming of Hell.

See, dreaming of Hell, he would have almost preferred it to this at first, _at first_. Because now, _now_, he enjoys them. A lot. Hell was exhausting, the dreams kept him awake, stopped him resting until he left the motel one night, until he broke down outside the room and begged the heavens to make them stop. Begged for just one good night so that he could rest and recover, get his strength back, because neither he nor Sam was strong enough to beat this, he knew that now, Sam knew it, even if he would not admit it, and Dean needed to rest, he needed to sleep, he needed to _not_ drink himself into oblivion. He was broken, completely broken and beyond repair and even though he had been shown that this was his true path, Dean knew he was not strong enough. No matter what Zachariah said, no matter what Chuck implied in his smutty little books that would become the Gospel, Dean knew he would not be strong enough, knew that the one thing that he would fight for felt that he no longer needed him. So Dean needed to rest and screw his head on a little straighter and get himself together, to look strong for Sam.

He did not remember going back to bed, did not remember sleeping or even dreaming. Just that he awoke, refreshed, satisfied and oddly whole. The feeling had not lasted, but at least he did not dream of Hell, he did not remember. Until the inevitable happened. Until with a tilt of his head and a whisper of confusion, Dean remembered. He remembered kisses and cries, even smells, the feeling of lips on skin, the gentle caress of feathers, rough hands, seeking, questing, _desperate_. He remembered a desire that he has never felt and even though part of him wanted the dreams to stop, they continued.

Dean Winchester is _not_ gay. Has _never been_ gay. Has begun to think that part of him has clung to that fact for as long as it has because without it he would not be certain of anything. Dean is not gay, but that does not mean that he does not enjoy the dreams, actually, part of him began to look forward to them. The problem is, the tilt of the head, the blue eyes that express nothing, but at the same time, _every little thing_ have started to have another draw, _outside_ the dreams. He began to wonder, wanted to know what it would be like, would it be the same as his dreams. He did not ask, did not try, could not. Except there was always that moment, that little flutter when he saw him. As the months passed, it grew strong, until it was no longer a flutter, it was an urge, irresistible and dark and desperate. Until he could hardly resist it.

The one thing that Dean Winchester knew, absolutely, completely and utterly, was that he was _not _gay. Not gay. But that one thing was joined by something else, something that he could not be absolutely certain of, not without a shadow of a doubt, but close enough, was that he was falling for the one who had come for him. The one who had helped him even when he had known he should not. One who lived in a body with dark hair and impossible blue eyes, whose presence was announced by the flutter in invisible, shadowy wings and the monotonous gravely way that this being spoke his name.

Dean Winchester was not gay, but he did not know it for certain anymore. What he did know was that he had begun to fall in love. Fall in love with Castiel, an angel, _his_ angel and that scared him, more than even the prospect of returning to Hell, that scared him.

_Reviews are like little Castiels flying around our heads_

_Artemis_


	2. Many Things

_I couldn't leave it as it was. After Dean's POV came to me so easily, Castiel's head was a little harder to get into, but I think I've managed it. _

_**Disclaimer:** I checked, they still don't belong to me. I'm only borrowing them and as soon as I'm done I'm giving them back. This does not mean that I want to._

Many Things.

In all of his existence, Castiel has been certain of a great many things. He has never doubted, never once had a cause to, he had always been secure in the knowledge that he was an Angel of the Lord. Even when his sister chose to fall to the Earth and hide herself among the humans, Castiel never once allowed himself to doubt. He was an angel, perfect, cold, detached. Utterly loyal to his Father, to his brothers, obedient and unquestioning.

So when the order came to descend into the very depths of Perdition to rescue Dean Winchester, Castiel obeyed without thought. He journeyed through the horrors of the Pit, heard the screams and cries of the Damned and did not once flinch, did not turn his head away from his mission, his mission to _save_ Dean Winchester. He succeeded, thought he had succeeded, Castiel had gripped Dean tight, raised him up high and brought him into the light. It was another thing that he could add onto his list of certainties. Dean Winchester had been saved. Still, Castiel was certain, he did _not_ doubt.

In all his existence, Castiel had been certain of a great many things. The thing was, those things that he had always been certain of had begun to become less so. Castiel had met Dean, and with that meeting the doors to such things he had never thought he could experience had been opened. All around him things were changing, the things that he had relied on were becoming less and less reliable and the more he interacted with Dean, the more he realised something. Dean had _not_ been saved, part of Dean still languished in Hell, he still doubted and sinned and all but refused to pray.

Despite his obvious flaws and doubts and the infuriating inability to follow a simple order or acquiesce to a request, the angel was drawn to the human, wanted to know more of him. So he watched, silent, aloof, emotionless and cold and he listened as Dean muttered in his sleep. It did not help him understand the man any better, but the more he watched the more he felt something stir in him, something deep and pure, dark and forbidden and so much more tempting than anything he had ever known. Still he watched.

In all his existence, Castiel had always been certain. Never doubted, so when his superiors told him that he was getting too close to the humans in his care, Castiel had not been surprised when his first, childlike, doubt had coiled into something else. Into _fear_, and still he could not stay away from Dean, could not resist the pull that the man's powerful emotions had on him, the way that such powerful thoughts and feelings awakened something in him that both terrified and thrilled him in ways that he had never known. Through that he learnt, learnt that Dean had one enemy greater than anything he faced, greater than Lillith, greater than even _Lucifer_, his greatest enemy was himself and Castiel resolved to try and save him from that, to try and protect him where all other attempts had failed and yet, in his _certain_ and _deep_ knowledge that Dean needed saving, he could not say _why_ he felt such a thing.

He was not there when Dean first cried out to the heavens for sleep, when he first called out in his need and pain and fear, Castiel had been elsewhere, _learning_. Learning what it was that humans desired, what made them laugh and cry and sing and regret. He did not hear Dean's cries for help until the _feel_ of his screams ripped through the angel and brought the flash of an emotion so new and raw that it all but crippled him. Regret. _Regret_, of all things and he knew that he had never wanted to feel such a thing in relation to Dean. So he had gone to him, gone to his side and held him, comforted him and felt something stir within him, that same pure and dark, deep and forbidden feeling that made him feel at once like he had returned to heaven and all the glory and light of it, but at the same time burnt at him in the same way that the fires of Damnation had eaten away at his soul. It thrilled him to feel it, thrilled him to feel the way that Dean's fingers clung to him as he begged for the dreams to stop and it was all too much, this compassion, this unknown feeling the gnaws at his gut and eats away at his heart. So he took Dean to bed and sent him to sleep and walked in his dreams.

Castiel has been certain of so many things, one of those most recently is that he should not walk in Dean's dreams the way he does and he most _certainly_ should _not_ be taking part in them. But he does and as time goes on he enjoys it, fears that Dean will remember and confront him, but finds that he cannot care. Because there is that feeling, of hands and skin, breathless moans and cries and names whispered with the reverence of prayers that Dean would never say.

In all of his existence Castiel has been certain of a great number of things. While some of those facts have fallen into shadow and darkness, and doubt has begun nibble at his soul, Castiel remains sure of much of what he knows. If he feels doubt, it is because he has been influenced by another, a human well worth being influenced by and Castiel knows that no matter what happens, no matter the results of his uncertainties, he would never wish anything to change, never wish anything any different than it is. Because now, _now, _he feels and he understands and even if nothing ever comes of it, Castiel is certain that he has gained an experience that differentiates him from his brothers and sisters. This is why he is certain that they will find a way to win. Because they have Dean Winchester and no matter what Castiel may think or feel or doubt, he has faith in Dean, and he thinks it may be because he is in love with the out spoken, sin filled and tainted hunter.

This certain thing sticks out in his mind above all else. Castiel has faith in, believes he is in love with, Dean and that scares him, more than the thought of falling or the end of existence as he has known it, he is scared of that love.

_Reviews really _are_ little Castiel's flying around our heads and mini Dean's under the bed._

_Artemis_


	3. All Things

_I know I said that I was done, but it just would not leave me alone until I had given it a sort of ending. This really _is_ it though. Absolutely, one hundred percent finished. It wasn't the easiest to write and it has slightly more mature themes than the last (not enough to up the rating, but enough to give fair warning)._

All Things

Dean knew that nothing in his life was certain. He did not have that luxury. Not since he died and went to Hell, not since his father sold his soul for him, not since Sam _left_ and went to school rather than staying with his family. Even his _sexuality_, the one thing that he had always relied on, had become skewed since he had been yanked out of Hell by an _angel_ of all things.

Despite his doubts and worries and newly awakened emotions, Castiel was still absolutely certain of at least one thing. He had faith in Dean. Unwavering, unshakable and undeniable. He had such faith because he loved Dean and whether that faith came as a result of his love or the love came as a result of his faith, Castiel did not think that he would ever know. As perplexing as that was, however, Castiel did not waver, did not question, because he had his orders and a job to do and he did not have the time to dwell on whether his love was a part of the great plan.

What was rapidly becoming a certainty in Dean's life was the dreams. Dreams that either left him at peace with himself and the world, whole, calm and satisfied, or dreams that woke him in the middle of the night, limbs twisted, skin bathed in sweat, tingling with remembered caresses and kisses, and a name a hoarse, breathless whisper on his lips. The name of an angel, _his_ angel. Although the dreams had concerned him at first, he had come to look forward to them, to _relish_ them in a way that he had never thought he could. So when his dream-self had told the angel that he loved him, it was only fitting, in the mind of Dean Winchester, that the dream of Castiel would love him back.

If falling in love with Dean had never been a part of his Father's great celestial plan, Castiel was sure that _telling_ him was most certainly not a factor. Except that he had been taken so off guard, had been so stunned by the honest admission of the part of Dean that could not lie, that he had almost immediately said it back, and he knew, absolutely without a doubt, that Dean would remember and that he would ask questions, seek memories and make demands that Castiel knew he was in no position to refuse.

The real kicker, Dean decided, was that Sam had started to notice. Started to see the way that Dean watched Castiel a little more closely than was necessary. That his eyes would linger on the angels face and body, like he was trying to commit all of it to memory, _every last detail_. Because Dean knew that Castiel would one day, _one day_, leave to return once more to Heaven and he would be alone again, alone with nothing but his memories and his nightmares and his regrets.

Castiel had made certain that Dean would dream of him whether he walked through them or not. Because regardless of whether he was there, the suggestion behind them was now so deeply embedded in Dean's mind that the dreams would always linger, for long after Castiel would be forced to leave the human and return to a home that was cold and sterile and devoid of all that made the humans precious. Castiel took comfort in the fact that part of Dean would always remember him even as his mind and his heart cried out in pain and hope and fear. _Pain_ at the thought o f leaving Dean. _Hope_ that he did feel the same love in return and _fear_ that his new and so precious emotions, his whole being, were _never_ going to be good enough for the hunter, that he was not _worthy_ of Dean's love.

Which was what it all boiled down to, really, in Dean's opinion. That he did not deserve to love or _be_ loved by an angel. Castiel was good and pure, light, holy and just _perfect_. Dean, _Dean_, was tainted by blood and death and darkness and part of him was still in Hell with all of the broken souls and all of the anguish in the knowledge of the _things_ that he had done. He had no right to the angel's love, no right to _demand_ it, but that did not stop him from _wanting_ it. _All_ of it. The overwhelming want and need, love and lust and simple _desire_ that was all consuming and over powering every time he saw Castiel, whether it be in or out of his dreams.

It is hard, Castiel realised , to control himself outside the dreams now. Seeing Dean nearly every day as he does, whether the hunter knows it or not, it is hard when all he could feel was love and desire and he knew that lust is a sin and finds that he simply cannot bring himself to care. At least not enough to stop him from wondering what Dean would do if he grabbed him and kissed him. But he keeps his restraint, allowed himself to settle for long looks and heartfelt sighs and resigned himself to the fact that Dean would never see.

Eventually, Dean grew tired of waiting, of watching and dreaming and desiring. He had never been good at restraint and the knowledge that Castiel was out there, still fighting to correct his mistake filled the hunter with dread and fear. Dread that the angel might die or fall or whatever it was that happened to them in battles with demons, and fear that it would happen with Castiel never understanding or knowing just how much Dean had come to care. His feelings terrified him, but the thought of losing Castiel scared him more. He waited, waited just long enough so that they would be alone, until they had lapsed into uncomfortable silence, until with nothing more than a harsh gasp he had taken the angel's face in his hands and claimed his lips with his own.

The feel of Dean's lips on his, his hands moving and exploring, was better even than the dreams that Castiel had allowed himself to experience, had gleaned just enough practical knowledge and experience from them that he knew how to respond in kind. So it was not until they lay in the bed, boneless and satisfied and completely entwined with one another that he even realised what they had done and it seemed that it was only natural for him to whisper the words that conveyed his feelings, to raise his head and gaze upon the peaceful form of the man he loved as he slept, to lay down once more and listen to Dean's even breathing and steady heart as he, too, drifted into a rest he had not known he needed, determined to stay until Dean woke or Sam returned.

Dean's eyes half opened as he felt Castiel settle on his chest, bodies still entwined, clothes strewn all over the floor, blankets not really covering them properly, but he did not care, because though his gut had clenched with fear at Castiel's whispered words, but he could not worry about the fear, not in this moment, this perfect moment where he had exactly what he wanted and needed. Where he had that one certainty and his heart had swelled within his chest and he mouthed the return of the sentiment, before allowing himself to join the angel in sleep.

Fin.

_Review for the angel and for the man._

_Artemis_


End file.
